


Something Like That

by Scrawlers



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 01:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17033464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrawlers/pseuds/Scrawlers
Summary: Neku wakes up in a small alley on CAT Street with no memory of how he got there. Luckily, Hanekoma is there to help him out.





	Something Like That

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a little while ago, but in light of Tumblr being . . . Tumblr, I've decided to archive everything here, just in case.

Everything was spinning.

Neku couldn’t see; everything was a blur of color and jumbled shapes, a roaring in his ears that wasn’t anything close to music, but wasn’t the rush of the metro or the howl of the wind, either. He couldn’t see; he had no idea where he was, if he was standing or seated or lying still, if he was  _anywhere_ even remotely physical. Reaching out did him no good; he couldn’t open his mouth, or his eyes—

_“. . . ones?”_

But that—that . . . Neku reached, with his mind if nothing else, for that sound, amidst everything else. It wasn’t just a sound, it was a voice. A voice among the cacophony, breaking through—

_“. . . nd shine, come bac . . .”_

A discordant tumble of sounds and blurred color, smoothing out into darkness that he . . . that Neku could handle. He focused on the voice, focused on breathing—he could breathe again—and as awareness prickled along his arms and slammed into his back (he was lying on something hard and flat), he scrunched his face and opened his eyes.

Mr Hanekoma was standing above him, and when their eyes met, Mr Hanekoma grinned.

“There we go. That’s better,” Mr Hanekoma said. “This is no place to take a nap, you know.”

“Mr H?” Neku rasped, and struggled to push himself into a seated position. “Where—?”

“Hey now. Easy does it.” Mr Hanekoma reached down, and helped Neku sit up. “Give yourself a minute.”

It was still a bit hard to see, but now that he was awake, Neku could see why. It was late; the alley he was seated in was blanketed in darkness, lit only by storefront and streetlights out on the main street. The alley was clean, at least, with only a couple trash cans and no litter, and after a moment of roving his eyes along the buildings on either side and the bit of street he could see out of the mouth of the alley, Neku could see why. He was in the alley next to the Jupiter of the Monkey store on Cat Street, well-maintained if not often frequented.

Neku frowned. His head pounded. “What am I doing here?”

“Well, that’s what I’m wondering,” Mr Hanekoma said. He stepped back as Neku frowned up at him, the shadows of the alley shielding his expression from view. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I . . .” His head gave another throb, and in an effort to work past it, Neku closed his eyes. It was . . . it wasn’t a school day, he didn’t think. He, Beat, and Shiki had hung out; they’d gone out to eat, had hung out near A-East and Towa Records. Beat had given Neku some more skateboarding lessons after Shiki had gone to meet up with Eri. And after they split up to go home . . .

“I don’t know,” Neku said after a moment. “I was hanging out with Shiki and Beat, and then we all went home.”

“Do you remember making it home?”

Neku shook his head, and when it ached in protest, he immediately wished he hadn’t. “I don’t even remember coming near Cat Street. Wait.” He held up one hand as Mr Hanekoma opened his mouth to respond, and once he saw he had the floor, asked, “Am I dead again? Am I in the Game?”

Mr Hanekoma burst out laughing. “That’s your first guess?”

Neku scowled at him. “When you’ve woken up in the middle of the street with no idea how you got there because you were killed out of the blue as many times as I have, it becomes a legitimate question.”

Mr Hanekoma shrugged, and though his laughter subsided, he was still grinning. “Fair enough. But no, you’re not dead. You’re still in the RG.”

Neku breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“’Course, that doesn’t answer why you were napping in an alley . . .”

Neku grimaced. “I don’t think I was napping. C . . .”

His voice died in his throat, and the hand he’d started to raise to ask Mr Hanekoma for a hand up twitched at his side. It had been a few months since the Game—a few months since he’d learned that it was all right to open up to people, to let them in, to rely on them. Even after befriending Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme, there was still no one he trusted more than Mr Hanekoma. But even now, after everything, actually  _asking_ for the help he was sure he’d receive was . . .

Mr Hanekoma studied him for a moment, and then extended his hand.

“Let me help you up,” he said.

Neku smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”

Mr Hanekoma grasped his hand in a firm hold, and tugged him to his feet with ease. When Neku stumbled, the world tilting on its axis, Mr Hanekoma placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. Without Neku having to say a word, Mr Hanekoma let go the second Neku was steady.

“WildKat’s right down the street,” Mr Hanekoma said, and he slipped his hands in his pockets as he started toward the opening of the alley. “What do you say you take a few minutes to rest up there before you head on home? You can stay the night if you need to; maybe call your folks so they don’t worry.”

“They wouldn’t,” Neku said, before he could help himself. Mr Hanekoma raised his eyebrows, and Neku was glad for the darkness of the alley as he ducked his head into his collar. “But, uh, thanks. Just—a few minutes’ll be good.”

“Sure thing,” Mr Hanekoma said.

Just like he had known to not hold onto Neku longer than necessary, he also knew not to press when it came to things like this. It was one of the things Neku liked most about Mr Hanekoma; he always seemed to get it.

They walked in silence back to the café. Neku kept his eyes on the ground, away from the bright lights that made his headache worse, and tried to think back to what happened. He and Beat had parted ways at the metro station, and then . . . and then . . . god, his head hurt. It made it hard to think. But there had to have been something. The metro stop they’d taken was the one near the Scramble. That was all the way on the other side of Shibuya from Cat Street. How had he gotten here? Why was he passed out in an alley? Why—

He stumbled as his hand brushed something hard, plastic, and unfamiliar in his pocket. Frowning, he slipped his fingers around it and tugged it loose, and blinked as he saw that he was holding a chunky bracelet with three rows of multi-colored, pastel beads.

“Nice jewelry, boss,” Mr Hanekoma said, and Neku looked up to see Mr Hanekoma watching him from the corner of his eye. “But I’ve gotta admit, I didn’t think that was really your style.”

Neku gave him a flat look. “It’s not. I don’t know where it came from.”

“Didn’t you just pull it out of your pocket?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how it got there. It’s not mine.”

“Huh.” By now they had reached WildKat’s front door, but in lieu of opening it, Mr Hanekoma continued to stare at the bracelet in Neku’s hand. “Can I see it for a sec?”

“Knock yourself out,” Neku said.

Mr Hanekoma flashed a grin, but otherwise didn’t reply as he relieved Neku of the bracelet. He turned it over and over again in his hand, examining it from every angle. WildKat was closed, so there were no lights shining through the windows; this section of the street was just as dark as the alley Neku had woken up in. As a result, it was hard to see Mr Hanekoma’s face, but what little he could see looked . . . troubled, almost. Worried, somehow.

Neku felt his gut flip.

“Mr H—”

“Hey, mind if I hang onto this?” Mr Hanekoma asked, and before Neku could answer he slipped the bracelet into his pocket. “Could be nothing, but I’ve got a hunch this’ll be a big hit in the shop.”

“You want to sell it?” Neku asked. “Mr H, you run a café.”

“A café that sells other things from time to time,” Mr Hanekoma said, as he slotted his key into the door.

“Yeah, but . . .” Neku sighed. “Do whatever you want with it. It’s not mine, anyway.”

“Heh. Thanks, Phones. I appreciate it.” Mr Hanekoma pushed the door open, and stepped aside before he gestured Neku to enter ahead of him. “Now, go ahead and take a seat, and I’ll get you a nice hot cuppa joe.”

Neku grabbed a chair at the table nearest the door, and the moment he sat down he felt another wave of dizziness wash over him. But unlike before, this felt less like pain, and more like . . . not exhaustion, not really, but more . . . it was like the moment his head hit his pillow after a long day out. Relaxation, ease . . . comfort.

“You take aspirin?” Mr Hanekoma called from the other side of the bar. “You look like you could use some.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” Neku said. Mr Hanekoma didn’t answer, but as the scent of freshly brewing coffee filled the café, Neku saw him rummaging in one of the drawers by the counter. Neku watched him for a moment, and then closed his eyes.

Comfort. Yeah . . . that was a good word for it.


End file.
